


Paint It Black

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Gimme Shelter: A Walking Dead AU [3]
Category: Fast & Furious (2009), Fast and the Furious Series, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Canon Character of Color, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As long as there's family, there is no end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It Black

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of the Walking Dead AU.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein. They are the property of Universal Pictures, Justin Lin, Rob Cohen, and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Title from The Rolling Stones, [Paint It Black](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4irXQhgMqg)
> 
> A/N 1: After watching Fast and Furious, Fast 5, and Fast 6, I was bitten by the AU bug and couldn't help myself. This is the obligatory Fast and Furious/Walking Dead Fusion. C'mon, our team are basically superheroes already and probably more than capable of surviving any sort of apocalypse.
> 
> A/N 2: As always, I've plotted out other stories in this verse. However, I must admit that I won't have much time to return to them, so I'll gladly provide my notes to anyone who wants to continue this verse. I'd love to see this verse continue as a long series.
> 
> A/N 3: Story takes place between the end of Fast and Furious and the start of Fast Five.
> 
> A/N 4: Mia got the Lori treatment. I'm sorry for fridging her. 
> 
> A/N 5: Slow updates ahead

Everyone had a story about the end. Dom’s story began with sitting behind the bars of a prison bus, arms and legs shackled through the bolt in the floor, looking down life between cement walls and steel doors with windows smaller than the average sheet of paper. All of that was his reality until he heard the furious hum of multiple engines blazing from the south and promising hell to be visited on anyone intending to separate him from his family.

Few things mattered in the time between then and now. The commodity that every survivor had inside Jericho was trading on their losses. Each one weighed the same, only the quantity raised their value.

So as his body shifted and turned into the motions caused by Brian assessing and securing the straps on the chest armor and heavy duty protective sleeves; Dom leaned into the momentum, his breath holding steady as time wound down for them to depart.

For three weeks, there had always been something for him to do. First, there had been burying their dead. Then the walkers stacking up on the wall. Then shoring up the façade. Then just being a voice and a face that the new people could come to rely on. Whether it be switching from auxiliary power to the industrial generator or using the sunken recess behind the south wall of the gate as a walker trap to thin the herd, there was always something to keep them going and looking forward to.

Dom stared ahead at the open door where the blacktop rolled forward like a flat dusty sea, the sporadic sweeps of walking pairs rising across like sudden waves. The teams were assembling there with their gear, making their final checks.

Like everything else in this new world, they’d assembled a routine after trial and error.

Brian gave him a final pull then dropped his hands to his side. “All good”, he said, his fingers just skirting over the duct tape wrapped handle of Dom’s machete. They shared so much, but some things had been established as individually theirs—like the shotgun and machete as Dom’s and M-16 with the silver and blue handguard and the folding scythe Brian carried on his back.

Still coasting on the buzzing electric feel of good sex and the promise of excitement, Dom tapped his fingers over Brian’s, conveying a hundred different things that Brian easily read which drew a half-cocked grin to his face.

The vest was heavy over his chest, but not so constricting that his breath felt tapered. “Thanks,” Dom answered, making for his shotgun laid on the table and pointed the barrel down. It was an anathema to an operation like this where quiet was key and the boom of the shotgun promised just as much trouble as it put down. But Dom liked the heft and the stopping power. He liked that he could swing it like a club if need be or use the butt as a ram at other times.

When Dom stepped out, he took a long glance around the yard. A very different type of look from the years spent exiting and entering spheres of darkness and light and not knowing what to expect while he’d been at Lompoc.

The cars assembled against the inner fence were far from factory standard. The gleaming big bodied chassis of the modded out CHP Charger sat in the lead. They’d sacrificed some of the front wheel speed and maneuverability for the sharp nose fender that dipped the front low and gave them the power to plow through wrecks and tight quarters. It was the first of the Dead Catchers.

A day like this didn’t require the Nissans—neither Brian’s GTR or Gisele’s 370Z going out. Instead, it was the other members of the mounting Dead Catcher fleet. The long bodied ’72 Impala and the ’08 Mustang would lead the way to Station.

The black Ram pickup carried Gisele’s bike, the back unfolding into a rear lift for quick access up.

The white passenger van was tricked out as a mini med station.

Dom and Brian stopped by the Charger’s front wheel. There were many bodies in motion at this time of morning. People down below manned the fences, spreading out to thin the herd that kept building up overnight. Their instruments all indistinct from this distance, worked in and out of the loops in the fences, dropping the walkers with mechanical precision.

“What’re you gonna do today?” With the rest of us out, goes unsaid. But Brian knew where Dom was going and picked up the thread easily.

“Me? You know, just gonna write in my diary and try not to cry at being left behind.” Brian jostled Dom’s shoulder as they started laughing. “I’ll help Tej with the wall design and probably the new locations for signs to Station. Maybe work on the water project...hang with the Guerilla Scouts, meet the new people, teach Jack how not to get cheated on a quarter mile stretch… You know, the usual.”

“That kid’s already got a good ear for bullshit. If he nods off, then you know he’s had his fill.”

“Whatever, maybe I’ll just help Han with his super-secret project and let you stew with figuring it out.”

“Super-secret project? Alright, have at it, Hardy Boys. I’ll wait to be impressed.”

“Oh you will be, Dom. You so will be.”

Then they went back to silent observation, taking it all in with a reserved sense of pride. Sometimes it was jarring to see so many parts of his life coalesce into a single unit, meshing so well that it fells almost orchestrated; by whom, Dom couldn’t say, but held out hope that the God of Cars, Family, and Adrenaline Junkies had a soft spot for them.

Gisele and Han spoke by the lead Jericho car. Her team fanned around the hood as she went over the map and gave updated instructions.

The scouts moved into position up in the towers while a clutch of kids played down in the fields by the makeshift barn and kennel.

At the gate, Pooh Bear waited for the signal  that it was time to roll.

Rome carried the supply duffle over, the rattle of the spray paint cans grew with each approaching step. He was decked out in black from head to toe, including the protective black skull cap he taken to wearing as they moved more east towards the hot dry stretches of California desert. He opted not for the full length heavy sleeves like Dom, instead doubling down on body armor from shoulders to ankles.

“Just need the grub and we can jet,” Rome announced, as he popped open the trunk to stow the heavy bag.

“Cool,” Dom said.

Rome remained hidden behind the raised trunk.

Brian folded his arms over his chest as they waited the final minutes. “Rome will give you a refresher on how the tagging works if you’ve forgotten. Just check, hotwire, and tag and be quiet.”

“Hey, running my mouth has never been the problem,” Dom said, speaking of Rome’s tendency to get snappy and loud when attention shifted from him. “I’m rolling with the machete first and the shotty if shit turns a bad corner, I’ll already know. So, chill. I got this.”

“That’s never been the problem, Dom. Just watch your back and watch Rome’s.”

Rome slammed the trunk. “We’ll be like birds, Bri. Flocking and flying high. Y’know, we got this.”

The grub arrived with Mama Ruth and two of the younger scouts who pulled flatbed dolly behind them. Mama Ruth carried over a generic box designed to carry office files, loops of plastic spilled over the top from the filled lunch bags below. There were plenty of plastic bags in the world which had other uses than just carrying scavenged groceries. Any exiting Jericho for short trips got three days’ worth of food in bag. Two weeks’ worth for anyone who decided to take their chances on the road.

Mama Ruth handed out the food while the girls pulled the cart with the water. The sun fried them during the day but could freeze them at night. Water was the one thing that they couldn’t do without at either time.

“Now I know that threats don’t work with y’all, so here goes. Another reason to get back, tonight we’re having ribs and thanks to Roman, I can whip up my secret sauce.” She issued them a maternal smile, then shifted her focus just on Brian. “We got Jack down about twenty minutes ago, so you’ve got a little time to yourself.”

“Thanks, he’s in the nursery?” Brian asked.

“He is.” She directed the girls over to the tower, so they could run water up to the new people on shift.

Dom grabbed Brian’s wrist and curled his fingers gently around prominent bones there. Brian dipped his head just slightly, understanding translating completely in the gesture, the response rolling forth almost reflexively between them.

“Ride fast.” Brian said.

Dom answered,“Stay sharp," without letting go.

Brian taking a step back put a strain on the snare created by Dom’s fingers and after a couple of seconds, Dom let go. The constant sunshine flickered and dimmed as Brian back-stepped away from Dom, dimming with the gray haze of rain packed clouds and the dizzying reverb of too many shots and the slow fall of shells to the earth.

Once upon a time, almost exactly four months ago, Brian and him stood back to back forming a tight circle at the center of a hungry knot of grasping hands and seeking mouths; at each turn, just a second away from death. Betrayed and made victims of Dom’s choices were to blame for them standing there.

Back to back. Seconds from death and they’d made it.

Cut back to now: Sunshine beamed down giving birth to California dreams and stillborn desires for Hollywood stardom.

He grabbed Brian at the back of his head and pushed their foreheads together. With eyes closed, he did a quick recitation of Hail Mary, only pulling back when he felt the prayer had flown high enough to whomever was still around to still listen to them.

He let Brian go. “Don’t get into any trouble.”

“What, me?” Brian smirked and bit back a low chuckle. “I’m an angel, man.”

“Sure, the devil on my shoulder says. Don’t get too bored, Bri.”

Dom looked to Gisele who gave them a slight nod. She turned away and called up to the guard tower on the walkie talkie, “Feeding time, girls.” The faintest arcs from the east and west tower could be seen flying over the fences and descending beyond the school of walkers shifting and moaning at the gate.

Then the snap-crackle-pop of firecrackers sounded. Dom slipped into the passenger seat of the old CHP cruiser while Rome slipped behind the wheel. The Dead Catcher rolled out first and down the short slope to the in-fenced yard. The four cars and the pickup waited behind the gate until the girls up top gave the signal to roll through.

The firecrackers were a little trick the scouts had brought inside with them. It was simple: use noise to distract the walkers and feed them something else instead of people. So far they’d managed to scrounge up a steady supply of rats to sacrifice.

The second wave of firecrackers and skewered rats launched into the thickened herd of walkers, and the girls, yelled, “Go!”

Brian and Pooh Bear swung the heavy doors wide, smacking the few linger walkers at the gate’s mouth into the barbed spikes that bracketed the road.

He tracked Brian’s movements in the mirror, a singular point that grew smaller in Jericho’s open mouth, and his eyes remained defiant, stuck there on Brian until all that remained in their wave was a cloud of yellow dust and staggering flow of walkers sealing the way behind them.

Arrows from the tower spiked through the loose lines of walkers, dropping the center of the horde to prevent the caravan from being blocked, and cutting down the first wave ambling toward the vehicles.

The walkers too close to the road got sucked under the mouth of the Dead Catchers and pulverized under the wheels. Others were clipped by the cars, losing grasping hands and arms made brittle by a lack of feeding.

The group reached the fork in the road and Giselle called out, “Break,” over the radio.

Rome took the exit for the narrow state road pointing west while Dom watched the desert around them.

Two minutes later there was a sign, reading Verde Flats 5 miles. Another one of those towns that sprung up around the Gold Rush and had diminished down to a microsatellite of a town. But if it warranted a road sign, though not a spot on the map, it would still have something to offer.

“Been a minute since you’ve been outside.” Rome stated as his eyes stayed focused on the narrow stretch of the road.

“Yeah, felt like a good time to get back into it.” Dom watched the lonely figures of desert dry walkers stumble over the land, jerking slow in halting stutters at the sound of the car. “The last thing I want is to become rusty.”

Rome clicked his teeth. “Or have Bri pull some Indiana Jones shit two nights in a row.”

“Right ‘bout that.”

“Imma give you a hint about Brian: he’s been doing that kamikaze shit since we were kids. I mean, he was the type to climb trees and the roof when shit popped off without blinking. His mama could never find him, even though he was always in the same place. My grandmamma, shit--”he scrubbed over the bottom of his face as he laughed, “—there was this tree, right? Like right at the end of the block before you left the trailer park. Whenever Bri would do that hide n’ seek shit, my grandmamma would walk to the bottom of that tree and look up and say, ‘Brian O’Conner, you’ve got til the count of three to get your knobby-kneed ass back on the ground.”

“Let me guess,” Amusement coloring Dom’s voice, “she never had to get to three.”

“Damn right, he was down by the count of one. So when I said he better be glad that no one snitched on him to the Golden Girls, I’m sure he had a flashback.”

Rome’s story involved looking for the only family outside of Brian and finding himself too late. All of them shared the same shadows in the eyes now. This was why Mama Ruth was the light that Rome and Brian could buzz around, recognizing the familiarity of her glow, despite the radical shift the world had taken. They won’t talk about what they found in Barstow or how Rome’s latched on to Mama Ruth like a barnacle.

The antagonism between Dom and Rome was so tangible when they’d first met, Mia swore anyone able would have picked up on the echoing clash of locking horns whenever each was in sight of the other. Brian had found no humor in their clashing.

He hadn’t had much time to really talk to Rome. He got bits and pieces about Rome and Brian’s childhood but the full story was still locked away.

From the first time he met Rome, he felt that he was at a disadvantage. Like Rome had all his story and he barely had the Cliff Notes to color his knowledge of Brian.

Rome reminded him of Vince. They carried the same look in the eye: the type that would scorch the earth if given the slightest provocation. The kind that promised to jump the tracks and land upright.

“You got any idea what Han’s plannin’?”

“Maybe. I been hearing about some barbeque or a little something else. Either way, it should be a good time.”

“I think I’m getting too old for surprises.”

Rome was bumping what had to be the last hip-hop mixtape known to man. “This Wayne is shitty.”

Dom continued his watch of the quiet landscape. “Well, he fell off towards the end, but who didn’t.” He had a legit question for Rome to answer. “So you just happened to be in L.A. when all this shit went down, huh?”

With his eyes ahead, Rome said as neutral as water, “You could say that.”

“Yeah, I could say that, but I want to hear you say why you rolled into town.”

“I can’t believe you won’t let me bump some Wayne while we take this journey, man.”

“Do you really think the noise is appropriate?” Dom wouldn't be deterred.

“I got a feeling that you and me, Dom, are ‘bout to get into some superhero-like shit.

Dead and barren weren't the same thing as the walkers stumbled over the scrubs of desert weeds and stubborn grass. “I never thought about seeing all of Cali like this.” The car rolled on out of the desperate grasp of corpse fingers. “It’s a beautiful place. I mean, the whole country is somethin’.”

Rome bobbed his head to the music, cruising a long like this was a regular milk run; completely at ease despite the monsters lurking in open sight. “It is. You should see what’s outside of it, too?”  

He cleared his throat once then dropped the volume of the music, signaling the start of a talk. “D’you think we ever will again? I wouldn’t mind going back to Miami. I don’t know if Bri ever told you about Miami, but, man, it was somethin’. Just what I needed after coming out of lockdown. I'd love to go back, if there's anything to go back to."

"No telling what's there or not there waiting for you." No one knew what was ahead anymore, so Dom gave the only honest answer that he could. "Just keep driving."


End file.
